


Stupidity

by threewalls



Category: Yami No Matsuei
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Fingersucking, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Kink, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Past Sexual Assault, Sharing a Room, Substitution, Wet Dream, post Kyoto Arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-26
Updated: 2004-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-17 03:02:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/172228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threewalls/pseuds/threewalls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>One evening, Hisoka decided that waiting outside imagining things was pretty stupid, too.</cite> Post-Kyoto arc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stupidity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quixotic_sense](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=quixotic_sense).



STUPIDITY

After Kyoto, a lot of things were just stupid.

He and Tsuzuki still had nightmares, but they had-- each other, too. He didn't like needing his partner so much, but it worked, and anyway, Tsuzuki needed him more. So, Hisoka accepted the point when showing up early at work became showing up early at the house where Tsuzuki boarded or when three-am phone calls became teleportation and talking all night, sitting an inch apart on a couch. He didn't twitch when the old couple Tsuzuki boarded with started calling him 'that nice Kurosaki boy'. Hisoka had even cleared one of his bookshelves for manga. Such little things could sneak up on you.

One morning, as he was taking Tsuzuki's spare suit out of his own closet, Hisoka decided that pretending temporary solutions were all they needed was just a little too stupid to bear. He made an appointment with Tatsumi for ten o'clock. Afterwards, with tentative approval signalled on the corner of two 'transference of accommodation' applications, he'd asked Tsuzuki to move in with him.

Now, they had a two-bedroom apartment. Hisoka had to cook every night, but he'd taught Tsuzuki how to dry dishes and had plans about laundry folding. He even liked going shopping for groceries, though he was sure that would pass when the novelty of watching Tsuzuki *bounce* amongst so much food waned. Sometimes, Tsuzuki wanted to do things when Hisoka wanted to read. Sometimes, Hisoka read when he wanted conversation because he didn't know how to ask. Sometimes, it was just nice to have someone to go home with.

Hisoka didn't worry so much about nightmares anymore. Tsuzuki was just down the hall and his door didn't have a lock.

It was just--

Tsuzuki had dreams. Dreams where everything happened like Hisoka's nightmares only they felt--really, really good.

It felt pathetic, and something too close to an addiction for him to be comfortable with, but he'd gotten used to creeping out into the hall and waiting through Tsuzuki's dreams just outside his partner's door. Tsuzuki's feelings felt like the softest, warmest blanket draped around him and it was really too hard to get back to sleep otherwise.

He'd pushed Tsuzuki's door ajar before, but his partner's room didn't have a window and anything Hisoka had 'seen' was empathic illusion dressed with his own memories. In the field, they could only afford one hotel room and slept side by side. Tsuzuki was-- pleasant to watch when he was asleep, not that Hisoka would ever let that slip. Tsuzuki hadn't had dreams like this in the field, but Hisoka's mind found the situation very easy to extrapolate. Too easy, really.

One evening, Hisoka decided that waiting outside imagining things was pretty stupid, too.

He pushed the door open completely, letting faint moonlight for the kitchen window pick out the arch of Tsuzuki's left foot, the toss of his hair, the rhythmic shifting of his quilt--

Hisoka blushed.

Oh.

Of course, Tsuzuki wasn't dreaming when he felt like this. He was-- doing things. Hisoka could see that Tsuzuki might like-- doing things. No one who liked things in general as much as Tsuzuki did wouldn't like-- doing things. Hisoka wasn't naïve. He'd known what kind of dreams went with the way Tsuzuki felt, what they were called. He'd just... expected that the difference between dreams and-- things would have been... more noise, and Tsuzuki was so audibly quiet.

It surprised Hisoka that knowing what Tsuzuki was doing didn't stop him from holding his Tsuzukifeelingblanket around himself; Tsuzuki still felt so good. It didn't stop him from walking in and sitting beside Tsuzuki's futon, next to Tsuzuki's pillow where he could face away from the quilt. It was strange how Tsuzuki almost looked like he was in pain, except that Hisoka could practically taste that he really, really wasn't; only he was--

"Baka!"

Hisoka felt awkward and loud. How stupid was it to forget that his empathy was only one way, that he could sense how Tsuzuki was feeling from his bedroom as clearly as he could smell it now, but that Tsuzuki could so easily not notice Hisoka entering the room.

It felt like accidentally being caught in a rain shower. Tsuzuki's joy dripped and ran. His eyes were so wide. Hisoka just knew that he would be apologising if Tsuzuki could have talked around the hand under his teeth. As if he wanted that.

"Baka. Give me your hand."

Tsuzuki didn't, or not fast enough, or maybe Hisoka had already taken a firm grip on Tsuzuki's wrist and started worrying it out towards himself before he'd even asked. It didn't matter.

Tsuzuki's sorrow flowed into confusion and then simple curiosity. Hisoka thought about saying something else, but decided to leave it at that; he didn't have to grit his teeth against curiosity.

There was blood, which Hisoka somehow expected, but no fingers missing because Tsuzuki had bitten into the heel of his palm. Hisoka wiped the wetness away and watched dark lines disappear to unbroken skin and grey smudges. Hisoka was still wondering how to best clear the residue away when he tasted copper and salt, felt a phantom tongue on the palm of his left hand, phantom skin under his tongue.

They whimpered, but pain separated them; Tsuzuki was biting his lips. Hisoka swallowed the glare, the retort, the sharpness of how much it hurt to feel Tsuzuki hurting himself to spare Hisoka Tsuzuki's *joy*. His partner was such an idiot.

"If I--"

Hisoka flexed the fingers on his own left hand before lining them up above Tsuzuki's lips. His palm wasn't as big as Tsuzuki's, so he considered instead how many of his fingers would fit-- inside.

"Don't bite my fingers off, all right?"

Tsuzuki nodded, quickly, and opened his mouth, slowly. Three fingers slid in so easy, too easy. Tsuzuki's mouth was so warm, so slick and so very wet, slack until Hisoka moved his fingers back and Tsuzuki *sucked* them in, his tongue rising to glide across their underside. It was impossible not to find a rhythm in the hollowing of Tsuzuki's cheeks, pushing in and stroking out. Tsuzuki was *humming* around his fingers, and that felt-- interesting.

Hisoka's eyes slid shut and he could see through Tsuzuki's, only not quite. Hisoka knew he couldn't really be leaning so high over Tsuzuki; he wasn't that tall. He knew his hair wasn't really that gold, or his mouth so pink. Tsuzuki didn't actually see Hisoka like that, but he felt it. For some reason, Hisoka's empathy translated Tsuzuki's affection as a sparkle-shimmer across his vision. He felt the fleeting caress of Tsuzuki's joy against his cheek, warm and blanket soft. Hisoka followed the thread of feeling outside of himself, outside of memories he'd never wanted, to the familiar feel of (what he'd always thought of as) Tsuzuki's dreams. Alongside the image of himself, there were the sensations of heat and of pressure and of (possible) friction too rough to belong to his own hand.

Hisoka frowned, opening his eyes and daring a glance down the futon. No, of course Tsuzuki was careful enough not to-- feel things this close, even if Hisoka could feel so strongly that deep down between them, someone wanted Tsuzuki to start-- moving again. It might have been both of them.

"You didn't have to stop."

Hisoka wished he could be more specific, but he couldn't even picture what Tsuzuki might be doing under the quilt. He could give a name to the act, in clinical textbook language, but even those words dissolved to so much ash in his mouth.

Tsuzuki hummed, questioningly, something Hisoka was almost sure was his own name, and then shifted slightly under the quilt. Tsuzuki moved slowly, keeping eye (and mouth) contact as he wriggled.

Hisoka knew the moment muscle shift meant contact; Tsuzuki couldn't concentrate on his own shields. Tsuzuki couldn't concentrate on being quiet audibly, either, and Hisoka knew why Tsuzuki had tried to gag himself. Tsuzuki sounded-- very, very happy. Every noise seemed to shiver from Hisoka's fingers across his entire body, every noise carrying ripples of emotion and connection. Hisoka couldn't escape how completely *good* everything felt to Tsuzuki.

Hisoka dropped his tongue to Tsuzuki's palm, smiling when Tsuzuki's eyes widened and he-- moaned around Hisoka's fingers. Copper and salt, warm and soft. Broad swipes of his tongue across Tsuzuki's palm alternated with pointed licks to the base of Tsuzuki's fingers. Hisoka's tongue matched the increasing rhythm of his fingers, and of Tsuzuki's right shoulder. It was hard to remember that he was trying to stop Tsuzuki from biting anything, when the oh-so-careful press of Tsuzuki's teeth felt like *that*. Hisoka sucked the heel of Tsuzuki's palm, flesh unbroken, though Tsuzuki had bitten hard, though Hisoka was pressing his own teeth in to hold Tsuzuki's hand in place. Someone was whimpering. It might have been praise.

Hisoka kept his eyes open, watching Tsuzuki's lips stretch around his fingers. Just his fingers, slipping in a fourth now because he could and he wanted Tsuzuki to feel him. His thumb stroked Tsuzuki's cheek in time with his hand's thrusts and the wetness falling there. Tsuzuki whimpered, opening his mouth wider, tilting his head back to allow Hisoka deeper. It was just his mouth (wasn't it?), and Hisoka nearly choked Tsuzuki when he realised that the thought wasn't his own. Tsuzuki wanted something that wasn't his fingers. Tsuzuki wanted Hisoka somewhere that wasn't his mouth. Tsuzuki wanted Hisoka.

Someone groaned.

Cotton had never been so rough against his skin, but he liked that. He felt so naked this far inside the other's emotions, and only the sight of the other's collar and the rasp of his own let him remember that they weren't.

Red and pink. White and black. Gold and purple. Colours streaming too fast too name, rushing to a horizon he knew, something familiar and frightening, some sense of déjà vu and utter, complete, unique perfection.

He was licking him(self), choking him(self), stroking him(self). He was shaking, no rhythm, just friction and sensation. His mouth was dripping and slack, just enough warning to pull his fingers out before--

Someone cried out. Someone screamed. Everything burnt clear and iridescent.

Hisoka found himself held taut above Tsuzuki, breathing hard, what seemed like everything very slowly un-tensing. The after-image of Tsuzuki arching beneath him fell and faded across his vision. Now, Tsuzuki's head lay at an uncomfortable-looking angle, eyes heavy-lidded but still held intent on Hisoka's. Tsuzuki was grinning. Hisoka could feel his own answering smile.

Hisoka sat back down and loosened his grip on Tsuzuki's hand, just a little. Sticky warmth was spreading down his legs. He'd-- There was a counter after-image of pink and gold and green sparkling like a mirror when he shut his eyes. He wondered whether Tsuzuki had-- Hisoka licked his dry lips.

"Give me your other hand." Hisoka's voice sounded rough, deeper, maybe.

Tsuzuki moved his head to the side, to an even stranger position. Hisoka stared right back, daring Tsuzuki to deny him, to deny this. Tsuzuki grinned wider after a moment, and shifted. Hisoka pulled carefully on Tsuzuki's quilt, sliding a tent of fabric above Tsuzuki's rising hand.

It-- glistened. Tsuzuki held it palm up over his chest. Hisoka watched it, for several moments, and then grasped Tsuzuki's hand from underneath, pulling it level with their other hands. Their lefts smelt of blood, their rights like-- the room, only much, much stronger. Hisoka refused to close his eyes as he stretched out with his tongue.

Tsuzuki didn't taste like something else, not bleach, not any kind of food. Hisoka was grateful he didn't have anything but what he'd read in books to compare it with. Besides, he'd *made* Tsuzuki taste like this and that was just--

Tsuzuki whimpered again and gave the deepest puppy gaze Hisoka had ever seen without some kind of sugar or cream involved. Even without empathy, Hisoka would have known what flickering between his face and his-- waistband meant.

Hisoka sighed and, very gingerly, rubbed the palm of his hand against the wet patch on his pyjama pants. Even through cloth, there was so much heat. It felt good and bad, right and wrong and-- Hisoka swallowed and focused, not quite desperately, on Tsuzuki watching him, only watching his face now, and he was so thankful that he hadn't had to ask for that. He wondered if his own face looked like Tsuzuki's had, not quite pain, but--

Hisoka jerked his hand up and away. He was *not* thinking about *that* right now. He scowled and shook his head against Tsuzuki's forming apologies, thrusting his sticky hand towards Tsuzuki's mouth.

"You don't have to." Tsuzuki's voice was a whispered rumble. Hisoka appreciated his patience, he did, but Hisoka needed to know his own boundaries.

"I know, baka. I want to." And he knew Tsuzuki wanted to, and that he had better appreciate it.

And Tsuzuki did. He held Hisoka's hand with both of his own, as though it were something precious, or knowing Tsuzuki, delicious. The point of Tsuzuki's tongue traced wetly every line on Hisoka's palm and then turned him over and traced lines Hisoka hadn't remembered were there. He was embarrassingly intent. (Moisture softened the rasp of cotton, the sensation very like his phantom memory of Tsuzuki's touch.) To merit the same-- noises from Tsuzuki without the motion or the stretch felt almost more decadent than before. (Hisoka knew he didn't really *sparkle* like *that*.) Warmth washed up Hisoka's arms from his wrists, reminding him of sinking elbow-deep in soapy water. (Don't look down.) Tsuzuki suckled each of Hisoka's fingers in turn, moving up and down their sides, flicking his tongue over their tips as though he--

Hisoka cried out as he-- did again. Tsuzuki let his finger slip out, tonguing the pad once in farewell. Hisoka's hands dropped and sat slumped down on his calves.

Until, a very soft, very cautious hand on his knee and an equally whispered, "Hisoka, dai--" and he had to sit up straight and stop Tsuzuki from finishing.

Hisoka's body felt burnt bright neon pink.

"Daijoubu," he said, adding "Baka," in case Tsuzuki argued.

It felt good. Hisoka refused to let go of the fact that: It. Was. Good. Only... he felt raw, naked and his-- pyjama pants clung sticky-wet against his hot, hot skin. The air was cool on his hands; they felt dirty.

"I need to get back to sleep."

It was the stupidest reason he could think of, but he wasn't pathetic enough to break in front of Tsuzuki. He wouldn't ruin this, not when he could still taste Tsuzuki. It had been so good.

"Don't think this means I'm letting you sleep in." He didn't run, but he didn't look back, either. If Tsuzuki said anything, he didn't hear it.

Hisoka's bedroom did have a window. His reflection had tear trails on its face. It rubbed them off and dared him to comment. He changed his pyjamas, pushing the ones he had been wearing to the very bottom of the laundry basket. He felt--

He felt Tsuzuki's mood shift, like being caught by the rain after lying in the sun for hours; confusion, fear, chill and something that he couldn't untangle from being guilty pleasure or pleasurable guilt. It was just so--Tsuzuki.

Hisoka felt sick.

But what had he expected, when he'd run off crying after-- that?

Hisoka ripped everything off his futon and folded it somehow. He threw his blanket over one shoulder and his pillow and futon under an arm each. It was awkward to move like that, but he wasn't making two trips.

Tsuzuki's door was still wide open. He'd rolled over in bed. He was shaking. Hisoka knew he was sniffling into his pillow, though muffled. He hoped the idiot wasn't biting anything vital to keep quiet.

"Baka," Hisoka growled, dropping everything on Tsuzuki's floor. He found this included himself and that he was crying again. It couldn't get much worse, could it?

" 'soka?"

Tsuzuki's head turned just enough to see him, just one dark eye shaded by darker bangs. It looked like hiding and Hisoka hated it. The eye was so wet, and Hisoka had to look away when the pink tip of Tsuzuki's tongue darted out to catch a teardrop.

He felt *sick*. He couldn't want things *again*.

"Can I sleep here?"

"You want to--"

Hisoka tossed dirty clothes to the corners of the room, unrolled his futon and sat very still. "Hai," he said, looking at the space between the futons. He tried to convince himself that two inches didn't bother him that much.

Tsuzuki made such a surprised, happy noise that was part agreement, part whimper and stretch. Tsuzuki pulled up to eye-level, before turning and flopping back down onto his back.

Hisoka could see both of Tsuzuki's eyes, and his smile, soft, tired but so pure. Tsuzuki felt a little warmer, still subdued, but less awful. Hisoka didn't understand his partner, how such little things could seem make everything better. It was stupid for anyone who liked things as much as Tsuzuki to wait around for someone like Hisoka to catch up.

He was so lucky to have an idiot for a partner.

Hisoka ducked his head before he could talk himself out of it. Tsuzuki's lips tasted like-- Hisoka *and* Tsuzuki. Tsuzuki must have-- Tsuzuki would eat anything! Kissing Tsuzuki felt like drinking dark chocolate, warm and rich, but not as sweet as Hisoka had expected (feared). It wasn't his first kiss, but it would be the one he remembered. He held himself there for as long as he could bear it.

Hisoka pulled back and lay down on his own futon, arranging his blanket over himself. Tsuzuki shifted next to him, stretching and rolling. They said their oyasumis and listened to each other's breathing slow.

Hisoka tried to get comfortable, but--

"It was... good, right?" he asked, rolling to face Tsuzuki.

Tsuzuki nodded. "Hisoka was..." He trailed off thinking and then he--wriggled. Hisoka blushed, because he knew exactly what Tsuzuki meant.


End file.
